


all the galaxies in our eyes

by klefaeries



Series: knock us down and we'll keep on going [4]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, literal car sex lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klefaeries/pseuds/klefaeries
Summary: A collection of short ficlets from my Knock Out/Reader series, "knock us down and we'll keep on going." Some smutty, some fluffy, but all are 100% organically grown with "I simp for Knock Out" juice. Please read the other installments first to fully enjoy what's to come!
Relationships: Knock Out/Reader, Knock Out/You
Series: knock us down and we'll keep on going [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809709
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	all the galaxies in our eyes

**Author's Note:**

> [puts clown wig on] hi im back because im a fucking idiot and can't let this series go lmao
> 
> uhhhhh yeah i thought i was done but then i realized i have a lot of little scenarios in my head that i want to get down, so here i am..........
> 
> mmmmmm im not sure how many there will be, and im not sure when i'll get around to them, but i know there's at least four that i really want to write (in addition to this first one)!
> 
> oh and not all of these will take part after "and so the moon rises," btw! i have some that will be in-between the previous installments and...some knock out/breakdown moments that im rly excited about :') 
> 
> this first one is just me being stupidly horny. that's it. enjoy ya filthy sinners and thanks i hope you enjoy!

“Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

“Because you love me and we were bored and this beats staying at the base waiting for Optimus to give us productive things to do. Like filing secret Autobot taxes. Or helping Miko with her calculus homework.”

“Ugh,” Knock Out groans through his radio, and you can see in your mind the way he would be rolling his optics if he weren’t in his alt-mode, “when you put it that way…”

You pat the steering wheel lovingly. “We’ve been working nonstop. And I  _ know _ you’ve been listing after the car shows in Vegas for some time. You deserve a little vacation, as a treat!”

He snorts arrogantly and the seat beneath you shakes slightly as he laughs. “Of course I do! But why,” now it’s your turn to roll your eyes as his voice turns whiny and petulant, “did we have to drive the entire way when we could have just used the ground bridge?”

“Because it’s more authentic and you like it when I’m sitting in you.”

“True, but I like it better when you’re sitting  _ on _ me,” Knock Out replies with all the innocence of a little devil. You jerk the steering wheel hard to the right in response, even though you know it won’t do anything, and his cocky chuckle makes your face heat up even more than what he actually said did. 

Things have been relatively peaceful for Team Prime in the weeks following your surprise adoption of Soundwave’s cybercat Ravage and ensuing abduction by the Decepticons. Megatron has been silent since Soundwave’s betrayal and exodus from the ranks of the Decepticons. You’ve only received one other message from him, and it was to tell you that he would most likely never be found by either Decepticons or Autobots ever again. 

Knock Out tells you that Soundwave can handle himself, but still. You hope he’s somewhere safe. It’s rather telling just how much Megatron depended on him, however, since his absence has all but halted Decepticon activity on Earth. 

Which is why you proposed this mini-vacation to Knock Out. Your recovery didn’t take very long and without any attacks from the Decepticons, you’ve been spending your days plucking away at your various research projects concerning the movement of Cybertronians throughout your planet’s history. Knock Out, meanwhile, has been going on mission after mission sweeping any area of the world for signs of the Decepticons.

You both deserve a break. 

Even if he is going to whine and moan about all the dust getting on his frame from cruising alone the very dry highway.

You’re a couple hours away from Las Vegas now. The sun is hot as it hangs above in the clear blue sky. A large semi truck is approaching you from the other lane, chugging along slowly as black smoke trails up from the exhaust pipes protruding from the cab. As the semi gets closer, you can see that it is absolutely covered in filth and muck, as if the driver plowed through an entire swamp.

Knock Out is apparently too focused on the road to notice. When it passes you with a blast of its horn in greeting, a layer of grime from its mudflaps suddenly coats the entire front of Knock Out, and he swerves slightly with a shout of appalled alarm.

“AUGH! What the slag?! Oh, Primus, this is  _ disgusting _ !”

You sigh and pull up your phone as he continues to gripe and grumble, using his wipers to clean his windshields as best he can. It kind of just smears the mud more than actually getting rid of it. “In ten miles there’s a truck stop,” you tell him right as you pass a sign says the exact same thing, which makes your Google-mapping somewhat redundant. “Pull over there and we’ll get you cleaned up, ya big baby.”

You’re glad you left Ravage in the care of Smokescreen and Bumblebee. Not that she could come along anyway because of her size and lack of an alt-mode, but she would definitely be trying to attack Knock Out’s hypnotically swiping windshield wipers right now if she were present.

“I’m not being a baby,” Knock Out insists like a sullen child as he speeds up, following the sign’s directions. “I just despise being dirty! Someone as gorgeous as I should not be covered in filth!”

“Yes, yes, what an exalted creature you are,” you agree with a sage-like nod. 

Less than five minutes later, he’s pulling into the highway truckstop. It’s nothing like the I-80 truckstop all the way in Iowa (“The world’s largest truck stop” the sign always boasted), which Leah was freakishly obsessed about, and constantly insisted on driving the three hours or so from Chicago so she could order a burger from the restaurant there. The burgers were good, yes, but not worth three hours of her belittling your every word or taste in music whenever you wanted to change the playlist. You still don’t know why the hell you forced yourself to put up with her.

There are two car washes. One is for semis, and the other is for non-commercial vehicles like the Aston Martin alt-mode Knock Out uses. There’s only one bay for the regular car wash but luckily there’s no other vehicles in it at the moment. The semi one has three, and all three are full. 

Knock Out pulls into the available bay and you step out. It’s so loud from the sounds of the industrial-sized hoses powerspraying the semi’s down that you can barely hear yourself think. When you come to inspect Knock Out’s front you wince slightly; the mud is caked on his grill, hood, headlights...everywhere. 

“Hope I have enough quarters for this,” you mutter to yourself. You walk over to the wall, where the settings for the hose and type of soap are displayed on a dimly lit screen. Before you can make a choice the raucous sound of the semis being power washed comes to a halt. You hear three sets of heavy boots echoing on the damp concrete floor of the washing bay. 

A deep rumbling voice comes up from behind you. “Why hello there, darlin’.”

You turn around to see three truckers crowded around Knock Out, looking at you with raised eyebrows and disbelieving grins that make you shudder slightly.  _ Ah, great, time to get mansplained about my fucking boyfriend _ , you think annoyedly to yourself as you cross your arms and stare at the three men with daggers in your eyes.

“Can I help you?”

One of them lets out a belly-deep guffaw. “Aw, don’t be like that! We just noticed your ride and wanted to wander over, give it a little looksie!”

“Mighty fine vehicle you’ve got here,” another agrees with a greedy nod. 

“But surely,” the man who spoke first smirks at you as he leans against Knock Out’s side, “a pretty lil’ thing like you doesn’t own it.”

None of them see the way Knock Out’s headlights flash rapidly beneath the coating of mud. You give him a subtle nod, smiling sweetly at the three truckers in turn. “You’re right. I don’t own him. He’s my boyfriend.”

All three falter in utter confusion. 

“Uh,” one of the truckers coughs into his hand and gives you a probing stare. “Don’t—don’t you mean the car is your boyfriend’s car?”

“Nope!” You saunter over, push past the two who are standing in front of Knock Out, and plop your butt down on Knock Out’s grime-covered hood. You pat his finish lovingly beneath the mud and dirt, still smiling with all the innocent charm you can muster. “This is my boyfriend. He turns into a twenty-foot tall alien robot, you see, and fucks me senseless until I can’t walk for an entire week!”

All of them just gape at you in bewildered horror that clearly says they think you’re insane.

The door that the one trucker is leaning against suddenly pops open with enough force that he stumbles to the ground in surprise. Knock Out revs his engines with a savage squeal of his tires as he jerks forward, ramming the front of his bumper into the other two men so hard that they yelp in pain and jump from the Aston Martin. 

You watch in delight as all three men rush out of the wash bay, shouting obscenities and racing back towards their semis. You spy the button that shuts the door to the wash bay as they make their hasty exit and so you hop off of Knock Out and skip over to it, slamming your palm against it and giving Knock Out a gleeful grin as the flimsy shutters come down hard and fast.

“We probably shouldn’t tell anyone about that,” you point out with a breathless giggle as you wander back over to the car wash controls, patting the back of your pants and feeling how sticky with mud they are.

Knock Out lets out a chuckle of his own. “I won’t say anything if you won’t. That was—sweetspark, what are you doing?”

You’ve shimmied out of your pants and tossed them to the floor because there’s no way you’re going to stand around in dirty pants. You think for a moment, and then remove your shirt as well, so that you’re standing in the wash bay in just your underwear and bra. There’s a print of your butt smack dab in the middle of Knock Out’s hood. It’s almost a shame to get rid of it. “Getting you all cleaned up,” you respond nonchalantly as you insert the needed quarters into the controls, turning the hose on and bringing it towards the front of Knock Out. 

Soap suds and water spurt forth and coat his windshield and hood, running rivulets through the grime. You hum to yourself as you lean up against his grill, practically laying on top of his hood as you focus on getting the mud off of his windshields. You hear him groan shakily through the radio and he shudders beneath you as you tap your fingers against his crimson finish. Dirty water spills down onto the concrete floor and disappears into the drain. You move the hose down to his hood, slowly spraying the filth away to reveal his beautiful cherry-red exterior. 

When you push your hips up against the front of his hood in a way that, you have to admit to yourself, is fairly obscene, Knock Out’s engine flares to life for a brief moment. 

“___…” Your voice comes out over his comms in a husky purr, and you feel a delicious lick of heat curling between your legs. “Do that again, sweetspark.”

But you’re enjoying this little game, and don’t want to make it easy for him. “Do what?” you ask, cherub-like, as you slowly slide your body off of his hood and stand back on the ground before him. Soap suds and water cover your skin. Your bra and panties are soaked, clinging to your flesh, and absolutely see-through. You start to wash his grill now, not bothering to get out of the way of the hose’s spray.

Knock Out lurches forward a few inches. You can feel the heat of his engines radiating through his exterior as his front brushes against your bare legs. You have to swallow back a little moan of your own when you hear him growl in frustration, because his voice when aroused is always the hottest thing ever.

“Touch me more, doll,” he snarls in a sensuous tone that makes your heart race and skin tingle in anticipation. “Your hips—your hands—I want to feel them  _ more _ .”

“Oh, no, did I make you horny?” you breathe shakily in a teasing voice. You bite the inside of your cheek when as an answer, he pushes into you again and the front of his bumper presses between your legs, creating a lovely sense of friction. 

There’s a loud beep from the wall and you briefly turn around just in time to see the countdown for the water and soap reach zero; the hose dies in your grasp and you stand before Knock Out, dripping wet in more ways than one as the remains of the suds and mud swirl down into the drain. His finish is glossy and shining once again, so at least you managed to complete that task, but now you most definitely have something else on your mind.

“Wanna try something new?” you whisper in a low tone, dropping the hose to the ground and running the tips of your fingers down the sleek surface of his hood. They squeak as they glide effortlessly across.

You don’t wait for a response and instead yank open the driver’s side door and swing your body in Knock Out’s interior. He lets out a startled sound as your soaked form crawls over the seat and your hips are hovering over the gearshift, droplets of water slowly falling onto the leather. You reach down with one hand and push the material of your underwear away so that your sex is bare and use the other to steady yourself by holding onto the steering wheel. Slowly, you lower your hips and descend down onto the gearshift, grinding your sex against the rough leather surface in a leisurely pace.

He doesn’t need to know that this is something you’ve been fantasizing about for quite some time. He’ll never let you hear the end of it otherwise.

“S-sweetspark…!” Knock Out’s voice chokes out over his radio comms, a combination of arousal and awe. It’s not often that you take the lead, especially when it’s something neither of you have tried before.

A thrill trembles down your spine. You start to rub your clit against the gearshift in earnest now, free hand traveling up your body and under your bra and grabbing one of your breasts. You start to grope and knead at the sensitive flesh, imagining it’s Knock Out’s servos doing all the work and not your own human hands. The friction and heat begin to spread all throughout your body; your toes curl and there’s a mighty throb in your lower stomach as your libido begs for more. 

You feel yourself growing wetter as you grind down and rub against the gearshift. You need it inside you,  _ now _ .

You squeeze your breast at the same time as you push down on the gearshift, gasping as it penetrates into your cunt and fills you perfectly. If you hadn’t experienced Knock Out’s spike at full-sized multiple times before, the awkward spherical shape and size of the gearshift probably wouldn’t feel so fucking good. 

Sweet bliss aches inside your ravenous core and your walls clench around the gearshift eagerly. You pinch your nipple hard as you throw your head back and whimper softly, sliding your waist up and down. Knock Out’s entire frame is shuddering violently as you fuck yourself on his gearshift, lapsing into Cybertronian that you don’t understand partially because you’re so lost in your own pleasure but also because they’re phrases you haven’t learned yet.

And then the gearshift begins to move of its own accord inside you.

You gasp and your grip on the steering wheel falters. “O-oh my god,” you moan, eyes rolling in the back of your head as the bumpy surface hits against your inner walls, pushing into your cervix one moment and jerking back and forth the next. “H-hngh...Knock Out…”

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” he objects with a rasp as the thick knob thrusts inside you, sliding between PARK and REVERSE and DRIVE and NEUTRAL so fast that you start to see stars. He’s absolutely pounding you. The euphoric ecstasy of something so big and rough rhythmically jerking around inside of you is getting to be too much. You stop groping your breast and your hand shakily comes to grip the seatbelt, holding on for dear life as you are suspended in a sea of pleasure. 

“Knock Out…~!” you cry out in a lewd wail, grinding your hips in time with the gearshift as best as your overloaded body can do. “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck  _ YES… _ ”

“Be a good girl,” he whispers with a heat that absolutely makes you come undone, “and cum for me.”

Your climax is hard and fast. You go numb with intoxicated bliss, practically screaming as the gearshift jerks one last time _ just right _ into the spot he knows will drive you crazy. The orgasm rips through your body and leaves you a quivering mess on top of the center console, blinking rapidly as you try to catch your breath. Every part of you is inundated with a dazed satisfaction as you struggle to push yourself up off of the gearshift, another wave of pleasure running through you when it leaves your pussy with an obscene  _ pop _ . 

You bring a hand to your mouth and bite down on a knuckle to keep yourself from moaning again, collapsing into the driver’s seat and panting wildly. You didn’t think it was going to be that good. It had just been a fleeting thought; a silly little fantasy late at night. 

“That was,” Knock Out’s voice is shaky and slightly full of static over the radio comm and for a moment you wonder if Cybertronians can overload in their alt-forms, “unexpected.”

“You know me, babe. I’m...full of surprises,” you mumble as you weakly pat at the dashboard, leaning your head against the seat and wiping the sweat and water from your forehead. 

“...how much human money do you have on you right now?”

You frown, your mind such a muddled mess from the orgasm that it’s hard to remember how much you brought with you. “Um,” you respond a bit sluggishly, “enough for a hotel and entrance fees and food. Why?”

Knock Out’s Aston Martin form shudders again, shaking you slightly as you lay inside. “Oh, no reason,” he says in a naughty tone that reeks of his telltale shit-eating smirk, and you know what’s coming before he even has to say it. “I should be able to fit in here if I transform, though. Do you mind hosing me down again, ___? I’d hate to let the opportunity for a full-body wash go to waste, wouldn’t you?” 

Needless to say, you don’t make it to Las Vegas until much later than originally planned.


End file.
